


The Here and Now

by cndrow



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Rating will go up in later chapters, Shadowbringers Spoilers, missing scenes and conversations, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cndrow/pseuds/cndrow
Summary: What if the WoLD got to sit Emet-Selch down for a long, cordial chat before everything went to hell?What if the WoLD was allowed to not be okay with what is constantly asked of them?What if the WoLD had harboured uncomfortable questions about Hydaelyn and Her followers for years?What if Shadowbringers NPCs just... communicated?!This is how my WoLD handled the shitstorm bequeathed to him in the First, told through conversations absent in the MSQ.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	The Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing FFXIV for nearly a year now, and only just recently reached the end of Shadowbringers. While I found it utterly fascinating and amazing, there were a lot of instances where dialogue options simply didn't fit my WoLD- or there weren't options at all, that I felt should have been present. This is a re-imagining of all those lost conversations I feel the WoLD and Emet-Selch deserved.. with a side of unusual smut in later chapters.
> 
> Sornd: The tiniest Male Moon Miqo'te. He is an Astrologian at heart, but spends a majority of his time as the least-stealthy Ninja ever. He struggles heavily with what he learned through the Dark Knight questline, keeping it hidden.

It was nothing less than a miracle, watching the blindingly white form coalesce from seemingly thin air; and yet it took all of just a few seconds for Y’shtola’s features to sharpen into view. The span of two breaths, and here was their friend whole again- or what constituted such, being here on the First.  
  
Emet-Selch even so graciously returned her robes to her form before the white light dissipated- though it seemed his civility extended only so far, as her unconscious form dropped with a dull thud the last few ilms to the ground. Sornd had to hold back a snort; it wouldn’t do for his friends to know of his small spark of pleasure at the ungainly flop she made.

After all, he was only able to feel amusement because he knew she was here, she was safe. That weight in his stomach he’d been carrying since the temple eased. He rushed forward after Thancred, drawing in aether to channel a weak healing spell, if only to ease her disorientation. She truly was whole to his discerning eyes.

And so he glanced over his shoulder, his smile wild and unrestrained, beaming at the Ascian. He opened his mouth to speak, but Y’shtola’s muttered questions silenced him. It took a few moments for her to gain her bearings, considering both he and Runar kept interrupting her with full-body hugs. Just when he had the chance to speak-,

“Is there aught you wish to say to me? A word of _thanks_ , perhaps?”

Well then, it seemed Emet-Selch would field his own appreciation. Sornd grinned again as he listened to Y’shtola’s pragmatic reply, idly noting he could definitely learn a thing or two from the Ascian’s mannerisms-

He blinked, realizing the conversation had already turned to readying preparations and the others were walking away, clustered around Y’shtola, leaving Sornd and the Ascian staring blankly after them. No one else had said a word to Emet-Selch. Not even Runar, who had no reason for prejudice against the Ascian.

Hurt, deep and raw and all too familiar, welled strong enough to nearly crush his next breath. He turned to Emet-Selch, biting his lip, gesturing widely at the retreating group.

“Welcome to the Scions,” Sornd spat bitterly. “Where whatever great feats you accomplish will only be noted briefly in what they accomplish for others, rather than the tax and toll upon yourself. They’re positively allergic to expressing gratitude.”

“Oh, my,” Emet-Selch murmured, feigning a step backwards. “I never would’ve guessed you hide such vitriol toward your _friends_.”

Shit. Probably not the best way to open the desired conversation, but this was a wound he’d carried for so long, so secretly, his restraint was nil. “Not all of them,” Sornd admitted more calmly after a steadying breath. “But.. Yes. Please, on their behalf and my own, allow me to express my deepest thanks.” He touched a hand to his chest, bowing slightly before meeting the Ascian’s gaze boldly. “I understand the discrepancy here; a moment of your time to revive our friend, yet an impossible task for us. I hope you understand the depth of appreciation we all feel.”

A slow, sly smirk curled the Ascian’s mouth. “Very pretty words, but I’m afraid quite meaningless unless I accomplished my goal…”

Sornd returned the smile, small fangs glinting along his lower lip. “I can only speak for myself, but you already had before your grand gesture. I’ve simply not had the privacy to tell you so until this moment.”

The smirk froze. “...Oh? Do enlighten me.”

“Walk with me?” Sornd inclined his head toward the path leading back to Fanow. “It’s a bit of a tale.”

“Walking.” Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “How quaint. Lead the way.” He held out a hand, sweeping it before him, but Sornd ensured he remained in step beside him.

Sornd glanced ahead, assuring himself the others were well out of earshot. “Let me state in no uncertain terms, you have earned my trust and my ears,” he nearly whispered. “But I ask that you return the favour. What I tell you in confidence must not be repeated to my acquaintances.”

Emet-Selch tut-tutted, brows raised in a mockery of surprise. “Why, the vaunted Hero of Light has secrets? From his own dear friends?”

“Don’t you?” Sornd returned, smile full of sharp teeth. “Doesn’t the vaunted hero of the ancients have secrets? From other Ascians, even?”

To his great surprise, there was a brief, but notable, crack in Emet-Selch’s cheerful facade before he opened his mouth to retort with presumably more snark. Sornd cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not here to banter, I’m here to explain,” he said quickly. “I’ve had my doubts for years now, and the only people who would have ever listened to them…” He sighed, shrugging a shoulder. “I’ve never been able to successfully open parlay with an Ascian. You’re the first, and so I have great expectations of you.”

“Me?” Emet-Selch poked his chest with a gloved finger. This time his questioning look seemed genuine. “How the tables have so deftly turned. Very well, I shall endeavour to not disappoint, then.” He raised his hand further, tapping his chin. “What are these doubts of yours you’ve kept so carefully hidden?”

Sornd took another deep breath, trying to unwind the stab of anxiety in his gut. Truthfully, he’d never spoken of this with anyone, too afraid of the consequences, too afraid to be forcibly removed from the tall gleaming pedestal everyone placed him upon. And now… he would finally voice those traitorous thoughts to an _Ascian_ , of all people.

But it was a necessary risk. By now, he was all but certain only an Ascian could answer his questions, and he honestly didn’t know how much further he could go without them.

“You remember to what great lengths Lahabrea would go to hear the sound of his own voice?”

A shocked laugh. “More than you can fathom.”

“Well, I listened.” Sornd pivoted as he walked, staring at the Ascian. “I listened very, very carefully to him in fact, but I had no context. I still, unfortunately, have very little context to this day.” He huffed, rubbing at his temples. “The only exchanges I’ve been afforded with Ascians were violent. I understand why, and-,” he paused, daring to reach over and place a hand on Emet-Selch’s arm to pull him to a stop, tilting his head back to meet the curious gaze. “I won’t let this devolve into who’s right, who’s wrong, who’s suffering is greater. I just want the truth.”

Emet-Selch stared at him silently, expression unreadable, joviality momentarily vanished. “It is all I’ve offered you,” he finally replied with a gentle shrug, jostling Sornd’s hand on him. “It is all I will ever offer.” His eyes narrowed playfully. “Goodness me, I cannot imagine what drivel Lahabrea spouted to catch your attention so astutely.”

Sornd frowned, letting his hand drop. His fingers tingled where they’d made contact. “I.. am not certain I can pinpoint it. It’s, it’s fuzzy? I know I’ve had my doubts about- about-,” and here he dived deep into uncharted waters, though he couldn’t stop his head from dropping in shame, “-about Hydaelyn, about Her champions, our purpose, the purpose of the Light, what balance should be restored and why..”

His head snapped up, eyes blazing. “I don’t want to be a god’s plaything. I don’t want to be Her tool to wave about at Her problems, with no concern for me or mine, while I’m kept completely ignorant of _why_.”

There it was, the darkness he kept close to his heart, ironically laid bare for an Ascian’s judgement. Fortunately, Emet-Selch seemed content to be silent and let him finish.

“And if I’m going to keep to this path, then I need some answers before I commit more than I have to give,” Sornd finished, words crisp with anger. He blinked, a wash of relief cooling his passion, and gave a short laugh. “Incredible. I’ve felt these doubts for years, and yet I- I’ve never been able to so clearly express them, even to myself. Perhaps the First is agreeing with me more than I thought.”

A slow clapping made Sornd start, then huff another laugh. “Well done, hero,” Emet-Selch said, and Sornd couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic or not. “And here I thought I’d have to spend all my time priming you for the truth. You’re already asking the correct questions.”

“Am I?” Sornd snorted. “I, too, shall try to meet expectations.”

“I have every hope you will.”

Sornd blinked. Once the Ascian dropped the carefree attitude, he sounded far more serious.. even complimentary. Sornd didn’t know how he felt about that. “So, this is a rather longwinded way to invite you to a private dinner once we return to the Crystarium.” His nose wrinkled. “Do you eat?”

Emet-Selch’s face twisted with pure amusement as he patted himself down. “What, doesn’t this vessel look satisfyingly mortal to you? Of course I can eat.”

“Good, I-,”

“A _private_ dinner,” the Ascian mused, slitted eyes glancing over Sornd, uncomfortably canny. 

Sornd’s brows shot up. “If you’re concerned about an attack, don’t be.”

Emet-Selch laughed as if Sornd had delivered a punchline to an unknown joke.

“I know,” Sornd continued, tilting his head up to stare at the Ascian under his lashes, “I know how stupid it would be to attack you. I’d rather live out what life I have left, thank you.” He paused, then added, “I’ve no reason to lie to you, you know.”

“I see.” Emet-Selch laughed, a cruel edge to his voice. “You won’t lie to your declared enemy, but you will to your friends?”

“They lied to me first. You haven’t.”

“Ah. Ahh, yes I see.”

“Good.” Sornd glanced ahead, picking up a slow pace again. “Then I just need to inhale a bit more of this surely-quite-healthy Light, and we’ll be able to talk at length.”

“I cannot wait to see what form your specific questions take,” Emet-Selch said, sounding almost giddy. “Should make for a truly remarkable evening.”

Sornd opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and nodded.

They walked in comfortable silence, slow and unhurried- though Sornd doubted the Ascian would move any faster if prompted. Strangely enough, this powerful being seemed _lazy_ , which was a trait he’d never have attributed to an Ascian.

He glanced up as a shadow passed overhead, shielded from the blinding Light by a large tree. “What does it look like?” he asked impulsively. “The Lifestream? Can you see aether too, like Y’shtola can? Oh, I wish I could, just once.”

No answers forthcoming, he turned to see Emet-Selch staring at him with an intensity that sparked a frisson down his spine. With a flourish, the Ascian dragged a glove off one hand and proffered it. Sornd stared at it mutely.

“Your stimulating conversation has kept my gracious mood intact,” Emet-Selch grinned. “Come now, I won’t bite.”

Curious, hesitant, Sornd gently laid his hand palm-to-palm with the Ascian’s. “What-?”

“Now, close your eyes.” Emet-Selch’s smile widened. “I know the folly of attacking you as well, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t- Alright.” Sornd obediently slipped his lids closed.

“Now..” Emet-Selch’s voice dropped to a low hum. “Stop attempting to see beyond your shuttered eyes. Stop listening with your ears.”

“Stop listening to you? Well, if you insist-,”

The hand under Sornd’s tightened, pinching one of his fingertips. “Reach out with your senses. Mm, let’s see, what’s the simplest- Ah. Focus on the sense you use to avoid stubbing your toes when you rise in the dark of night to fetch a glass of water.”

“You can eat _and_ drink water?” Sornd quipped. “You’re full of surprises today.”

Emet-Selch huffed in annoyance. “Would you like this gift, or no?”

“I would,” Sornd said demurely.

“Then concentrate. I know, I know, difficult for one such as you, but surely you can muster the effort for such a short time.”

“Certainly,” Sornd laughed, then sobered as he quieted his mind. Years of practised meditation allowed him to slip into an ocean of nothingness rather quickly.

“Don’t see. Don’t hear,” Emet-Selch whispered. “Feel.”

A stray thought attempted to distract him- the words felt awfully familiar- but Sornd shoved it down for later contemplation. His hand was hot, palm slick with sweat where he met Emet-Selch’s. The wind was cool on his arms, ruffling his hair. The ground was soft with moss beneath his feet. Firmly planted in the _here_ and _now_ , he then pulled on various instincts, widening his consciousness to map out the area around them-

Sornd bit back a cry as the world exploded into bright colors.

“Ah, finally. I was beginning to lose hope.”

Sornd swiveled his head, eyes still firmly shut, as he took in the swirling patterns of coloured light around them. The trees, the grass, the birds in the sky, they were all lit in what he could only describe as their purest essence. There was a curious harmony between the rivers of light, bending and moulding to each other even as the individual lifeforms swayed in the luminous breeze. 

He tilted his head up, gasping as he saw that beautiful dance broken in the sky above. The corrupted Light was even more blinding and sinister than when he saw it with his own eyes. It made him feel sick.

“Focus,” Emet-Selch murmured, his voice suddenly close. “Don’t linger overlong on the Light.”

“Sound advice,” Sornd gasped, breathing through his mouth, trying to keep his stomach contents squarely where they should remain. “That’s- It’s- Is that what you feel when you see it?”

“Mm, something similar, I suppose? Nothing quite so base, but yes.”

“Can you choose to not see the world in such a fashion?” he asked. He glanced down at himself, surprised and elated to find himself suffused with the most beautiful crystal clear hue of blue he’d ever seen. Was that undulating swirl his soul?! Odd that it happened to be his favourite colour. “It’s beautiful, but it would give me a headache if it were constant.”

“It’s because you’ve untrained sight,” Emet-Selch sighed in a patronizing tone. “You don’t truly have the capacity to fathom what you’re sensing, not as you are.”

“So.. it doesn’t give you a headache?” Sornd snorted, turning his head to look at Emet-Selch, then froze, jaw dropped in wordless awe.

If his own soul was the winding, twisting latticework inside his breast, then Emet-Selch’s was overwhelmingly large in comparison- and breathtakingly beautiful. Sigils upon sigils wound upon themselves, bathed in a bright purple hue. Harmonic tendrils whirled at the edges, dancing with each other as they coiled and loosened. Complexity upon complexity, layer upon layer, Sornd wasn’t even certain what he was seeing except it was the most gorgeous sight he’d ever witnessed in his entire life. 

For a second, he sensed Emet-Selch’s attention refocusing on him, recognizing where the shinobi’s own focus was, and Sornd’s soul swelled to the point of pain, an unknown emotion lancing through him so quickly and thoroughly he couldn’t breathe-

And then the colours shattered as the Ascian made a distressed noise and jerked his hand away. Sornd’s vision flooded with light, his head throbbing as the ground tilted beneath his feet and gave way to oblivion.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

The pain pulled him from blissful sleep, and Sornd fought the rising sounds and smells of reality, trying to keep his grip on unconsciousness.

“Sornd?”

Ah, damn, he could never refuse Alphinaud anything. The migraine pressed in on him, but this time he fought to pull it into clearer focus. He gasped his friend’s name, feeling a hand on his squeeze in answer.

“Oh thank the Twelve,” Alphinaud breathed quietly. He loomed into his vision as Sornd’s eyes fluttered open. “Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Migraine,” Sornd groaned, reaching up to place his free hand over his eyes. “But otherwise fine. What- Where-?”

“You fell behind. I’m sorry, Sornd, I was so concerned with keeping Y’shtola on her feet that I lost track of you and Emet-Selch.”

_Emet- purple- sigils- pain- pull- closer- closer- need-_

“Where is he?” Sornd gasped, struggling to sit upright.

“I’m uncertain as to his whereabouts at the moment, but he carried you to Fanow,” Alphinaud replied slowly. “He said you were unharmed, only stressed to the point of exhaustion- which I believe is the truth- but after he laid you to rest here, he disappeared.” 

“Ah.” Sornd tightened his grip on Alphinaud’s. His voice lowered to a whisper. “It is the truth, but I swear to you I’m fine.”

Alphinaud’s cheeks pinkened. “Alisaie and Thancred were beside themselves,” he added, worry creasing his brow. “They’ve taken turns sitting with you. Alisaie only just left. What happened, Sornd? Did- Did Emet-Selch-?”

“I made a silly request, and he simply granted it,” Sornd shrugged, trying to sound casual, though the experience had been anything but. “I wanted to see the aether around us as Y’shtola does. To my surprise, he was able to grant me a mirror of his own vision so I could see. It was..” Sornd paused, the memory of the whirling deep hues twinning so close to his own pure bright essence nearly bringing tears to his eyes. “It was glorious, but a bit much for my overworked mind to comprehend.”

“That’s- Sornd, that’s _dangerous_ ,” Alphinaud chided. A breath, then predictably, “You must tell me what you saw once you’ve your strength.”

“I will, I promise,” Sornd chuckled, then moaned as he pressed his hand closer to his throbbing face. “Ow. Ow, shit, ow.”

“Allow me.” Alphinaud gently removed his hand, replacing it with his. Familiar warmth seeped from beneath his fingers, chasing away the worst of the stabbing pain.

“Bless you,” Sornd muttered, leaning into the touch. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alphinaud.”

A small choke, and Alphinaud’s shaky hand withdrew. Sornd smiled to himself; he allowed himself these moments of quiet affection with the twins far more frequently now. They were all, in various ways, starved for it, and Sornd had been through too many moments when he’d nearly lost them to hold back anymore. This last one had been particularly hard; though he now understood the honest mistakes the Exarch had made, it had nearly broken him to lose the twins in rapid succession. He was, secretly, still incredibly pissed about it, too.

Headache eased, he glanced at his friend with clearer eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’ve no need to thank me,” Alphinaud smiled. “Anything I can do to ease your way is worth any price, of course, but this is a mere trifle.”

Sornd reached up, scuffling the floofy white hair, pleased at the immediate cries of dismay. Though he had given voice to his most painful frustrations to Emet-Selch, he would take care to give them context as well; how these moments, soft and warm, filled with genuine affection and care made all the pain, as Alphinaud said, worth any price.

Sornd swung his legs over the side of the cot, testing their strength. With the migraine eased, he felt rather fit indeed. “Are the others ready to leave?”

“I believe they’ve congregated in the dining area for a meal, but then, yes.”

“Let’s join them, then.” Sornd swiped his hand over the silken hair once more. “And then, we’ll defeat this Lightwarden and have a well deserved rest at the Crystarium.”

Alphinaud began talking excitedly, explaining what preparations were in order, and Sornd nodded as a part of his mind quietly slipped away, cataloguing all the questions he would soon finally be able to ask. He had many new ones to add, a few even taking priority over ones he’d held for years. 

He had to know why his soul ached to touch an Ascian’s.


End file.
